Is It Enough To Breathe?
by i'llbeyourcoat
Summary: Things did not go the way Tom, he was Tom back then, planned - not exactly. He didn't plan on the way his parents would stare at him, nor the way the kids at school would shun him, nor did he plan what would happen to his swim team. T because it's RENT


_Is it enough to love?_

_Is It Enough To Breathe?_

_Somebody rip my hear out_

_And leave me here to bleed_

_Is it enough to die?_

_Somebody save my life_

_I'd rather be anything but ordinary please..._

_-_ Anything But Ordinary, Avril Lavigne

Is It Enough To Breath?

Tom, he was Tom back then, starred at the surface of the pool, smooth, calm, the exact opposite of the small child who was crying inside him. He glanced back at his sweater and sandals lying forlornly on a bench. This was stupid, it shouldn't take him this long to decide whether to get in the water or not. Then again, the alternative was being at home. He jumped in the pool, chlorine instantly filling his nose. The water was frigid. Tom surfaced, shaking and sputtering. Not giving himself time to adjust to the temperature, he got in streamline position and pushed off the wall.

This was better, everything seemed far away and his world narrowed down to the task of bringing one arm over the other. Stroke, stroke, stroke, breathe. Tom's face broke the surface. Thoughts attacked his frazzled brain like a wild fire. Memories of the past week: he and Brian sitting at a café after a swim meet. Tom's mother had always scolded him about his coffee addiction, saying it would be his down fall. The image of Brian's face distorted with anger and disgust seemed permanently etched behind his eyelids, the sound of Brian's murmur, announcing what he'd learned to the entire student body the next day, rang incessantly in Tom's ears. The stares, the whispers that had followed him…

His face was in the water again, and memories of his one time best friend, extinguished. _At least I have this,_ Tom thought grimly. Swimming was better then Advil in a situation like this. The water was cool now, and felt good, like an impenetrable wall between him and the rest of the world. _Curse our need to actually breath._

Bracing himself, Tom lifted his head. Like a match on oil, the wildfire started. It was Monday night, family night. Now his father was yelling in his face, shaking him by the shoulders. His mother was crying; trying to convince herself that this was a phase, they could go to a psychiatrist, help Tom to get over this. Later, alone in the room they shared, his little brother asked him what it meant. And loved him any way.

Quick, water, fresh, cool, safe water. Why was it that his friend's list had gone from the coolest people in school to his kid brother and cat? The people who were supposed to be his friends had turned on him for something he couldn't, and wouldn't change about himself.

An ear splitting whistle interrupted her thoughts. Tom broke his stroke, and paused, treading water. He located the source of the noise instantly; a man wearing a baggy Crocodiles swim team sweatshirt stood on the deck. He stood erect, legs apart, arms folded. Tom knew him. Coach, is what the team called him, nobody knew his real name. He was a good guy, with less patience than hair, which was steadily crawling backwards. Now he glared at Tom, making the already cold water seem freezing.

"Coach?" The frown lines on the man's face deepened. Tom knew this face. It was the face Coach wore like a mask. The one he wore when he was going to tell you off for something. Tom searched the mask now, looking for any slip of emotion.

"Get out."

"What?" This was not at all what Tom had been expecting.

"Get out. You are off the team."

"What?" Tom's brain seemed not to be functioning properly. Suddenly the mask slipped. Now Coach was there, tired, and a little irritated. Coach sighed; Tom could see he didn't actually want to do this. And then the mask was on again.

"Tom, I told you that if you pulled another prank you'd be off the team. I told you, and yet you still went and rewired the clock." For a moment, their eyes met. Coach looked away, ashamed. Tom thought back, remembering the incident. It was true; he had rewired the clocks to run slow, making it seem that whole team had improved their time enormously. It had taken the adults days to figure it out. Tom was still staring at Coach in disbelief he knew the parents of the team were tough, but really... Well now Tom knew what Coach was really like. For the clock incident had occurred two months ago.

"Coach…" Tom could not believe that Coach would do this to him.

"Get out of the pool." Tom swam under the lane lines, feeling the water around him…his impenetrable wall. At the edge he pulled herself out and watched, shivering, excess pool water pooling around his feet and dripping of his wet skin. Now his wall was gone, probably forever, and he hurt. He walked to the bench, relishing the sting of his feet slapping the ground. Not looking at Coach, he grabbed his sweater and sandals. All the while, Coach stood by the door, eyeing him as if he would commit some unnamed atrocity at any moment. The only thing Tom saw as she pushed open the door was his own two feet. As the door swung closed, Tom could hear Coach mutter something under his breath.

"No one wants a fag on the team."


End file.
